


Head's A Crying Wasteland

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: Bottom Craig, Imp!Tweek, M/M, okay more like demon!Tweek and clergyman!Craig, youthpastor!Craig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13558290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Of course a demon would visit a sinner like Craig Tucker, he deserves everything that happens to him.





	Head's A Crying Wasteland

Head's a crying wasteland  
Filled with shame  
Cried for help before and  
Nobody came  
-Nobody Came, Silverchair

* * *

 

Sweat drips into his eyes. Under his arms. Down his chest. His dark hair is damp with it. His neck itches. But the room isn't particularly hot, might even be described a vaguely cool to anybody sitting still in a chair.

Craig Tucker is not sitting still in a chair.

He kneels on the ground, clutching the rosary in his sweat-damp hands, rocking back and forth as he prays. As he's been doing for the last two hours. The last week. The last year.

Praying to be fixed.

Praying to not possess these uncontrollable feelings.

Praying to be normal.

He breathes out the prayers in one long stream of consciousness, throwing in some Latin for good measure, wishing he would gain the ability to suddenly speak in tongues.

His knees ache. His back aches. He's thirsty. He's hungry. He hasn't eaten in two days.

Hunger helps. Hunger purifies. Hunger makes him feel light headed, ethereal. Hunger frees him from his body, lessens the weight of his own humanity.

But he always has to eat in the end. Eventually. Suicide is a sin. But it would be so, so easy. Just forget to eat until he withers away like the empty skin of a serpent.

He is a serpent. Sinful. Hated by God. Punished for eternity to crawl on his belly.

Craig doesn't want to be sinful. He wants to be good.

Even as a boy, when he had developed seemingly innocent infatuations on others boys, he had wanted to be good. He had thought he was being good. He had been nice to those boys. They had talked and played together and shared snacks. One friend in particular, an exceedingly small boy known as Butters, he had been especially nice to. He would brush the other boy's hair and hold him in his arms as they read together.

Until his priest had caught them one afternoon, curled up together in a nest of blankets, and told them they were sinning. That if they didn't stop sinning they would go to Hell.

Butters is still sinning. He lives in a house of sin with another boy by the name of Kyle.

Kyle is nice. Like Craig used to be nice.

But they're both sinners. They're both going to Hell. That can't be helped. Not if they don't want to be saved.

Sweat stings his eyes. It tastes like salt and oil on his lips. Maybe it's not the sweat that tastes like oil. Probably picking up grease from his skin. When's the last time he showered? Three days ago. Four days?

Cleanliness is supposed to be next to Godliness. He has to remove the belt when he showers. Has to remove the spiked cage that encircles it. When he showers he has to see it. Touch it. He has to resist the urge to touch it more.

Usually, he succeeds. Usually, he soaps himself down and rinses himself off and gets outs and puts the cage back on and the rest of his clothes back on and is safe.

Sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes, he leans one hand on the wall, leans his head against the wall and watches himself. When he does it he does it fast and painful, jerking himself to orgasm as roughly and mechanically as milking a cow.

Sometimes, he closes his eyes. Sometimes he thinks of soft blond hair and blue eyes.

His name is Tweek Tweak. He's one of Craig's fellow clergyman. Not from South Park, but a small church in Denver. They meet up at many local events, supervise the same Christian summer camps, chaperon the community ski trips. Tweek is a model Christian man. Kind. Helping. Loving. Really loving. Craig wants to love him. Much, much more than he should.

He's beautiful like an angel. Like one of the Renaissance paintings from the art museums he visits with the kids. They always giggle at the nudity behind their hands. Pointing when they don't think any adults are looking. Not understanding that angels are too pure to need to wear clothing.

Not like humans. Humans needs layers to protect themselves from others, from themselves. Humans cannot be trusted to not take part in impure thoughts. In impure actions.

Craig can't be trusted. That's why he wears the chastity belt. At all hours. When he sleeps, when he eats, when he uses the bathroom. Only removing it to shower. It's the kind that relies on self-restriction. Nothing physically binds him, to a degree. No leather straps tied around his genitals. Just a well-formed metal cage lined with spikes. Spikes that dig in and draw blood. He is a man of God. It is up to him to be in control of those urges.

Except now he's starting to associate the restriction, the pain, with more...pleasant feelings. And it makes him crave the pain. The spikes. The blood. When he closes his eyes and sins in the shower he appreciates the roughness of it. The chafing, the agonizing tightening of his fingers gripping, squeezing, as if he were trying to strangle that part of himself.

He enjoys the pain in his knees now. Acute, direct. Not like the strain on his back which is dull and throbbing. But the pain on his knees, the soreness associated with bruising, is good. This pain is better. Better to suffer to be made clean. To be made good. He wants to be good. He wants to be good. He wants to be-

“But you're not good, are you?” a deceptively sweet voice asks. A familiar voice. Craig's eyes fly open, his heart jumps into his throat. “You're a naughty boy. Touching yourself to the thought of fucking me. Such a bad boy.”

Craig's mouth hangs open in shock. Astonishment.

There's an angel standing before him. Craig knows that's impossible, no angel would come to a sinner like him, but here he is. Dressed in immaculate, flowing white robes, glowing all-over with a golden hue. The skin of the divine creature shimmers with the light of God. Wings spread out behind him.

And the angel looks exactly like Tweek Tweak. If Tweek had been painted as the Virgin Mary. Somehow, he is even more beautiful than usual. A feat that Craig hadn't realized was possible.

His skin is like porcelain. His eyes the color of the ocean off a tropical island. His lips as full and soft looking as a new pillow. His pointed chin screams vulnerability.

But his ocean eyes and pillow lips speak of disdain.

“Are you really thinking about fucking me right now?” the angel, Tweek, asks. Contempt dripping from his voice like acid. “You're disgusting.”

Craig shakes his head slowly, helplessly. Horrified by the words the angel speaks. Horrified that the angel knows his thoughts. Of course he knows. Angels are divine. They have to be able to read minds.

If he wasn't thinking about fucking the boy, angel, earlier, he is now. The use of the angel's language, vulgar and filthy, stirs up more of a reaction than it should. He tries not to imagine the angel on his knees before. Or himself on his knees before the angel. He tries not to imagine how tight the divine being would be and how good he would feel beneath him, around him.

“You know, you're not the first queer to want to fuck one of us,” Tweek says, taking a step closer to Craig. “Ever hear about the quaint town of Sodom? How about Gomorrah?”

“I...” He trails off. It feels wrong to talk back to an angel. Even to explain himself. He stares at the wings behind him. White, as soft looking as a cloud. White, like the wings of doves. The bird of peace. Of love.

The angel doesn't speak of love. Doesn't speak of peace.

“Kneel,” he says instead. “Like a good servant. You're barely on your knees at all. What kind of servant of God doesn't lower his head for an angel?”

Craig obeys quickly, prostrating himself quickly, so low his chest presses against the floor. He keeps his head lowered, eyes tilted up to watch the angel despite himself.

The angel lifts a slim-ankled leg and presses a sandaled foot down on the top of Craig's head. Presses his head down, lower, his mouth kisses the floor. He can't see the angel any longer.

His neck strains under the weight of the foot weighing him down. His genitals stir in their cage, starting to press against the spikes.

“I can smell your arousal,” the angel, Tweek, oozes. “You stink like a stag in rut.”

Craig's eyes are watering, welling up but no tears have yet fallen. He's not sure why he's on the verge of tears. Maybe fear. More likely humiliation. The humiliation of being berated at the hands of this holy creature. He knows the angel merely speaks the truth. He deserves this admonishment, and more. Somehow, the thought of burning in Hell had been easier than this. To know that God knows what he is and is disappointed in him.

He doesn't want to disappoint God.

The angel nudges his other foot at Craig's face, kicking him lightly on the cheek. Craig doesn't move.

“Lift your head, human,” Tweek instructs. “No, don't look up at me. Lick my foot.”

Lick his foot? Craig would gladly martyr himself for the chance to touch this being. But he hesitates, not wishing to soil the marble white appendage before him. The toes are perfectly shaped, devoid of hair, the nails trimmed perfectly, shining as if painted with clear nail polish. Like the nail polish of that boy Craig had paid for that one time when he was still in school, still in training. Before he had been purified. That boy had been so pretty. And he made such pretty noises.

He banishes the thought. The angel chuckles, hearing his thoughts in his mind.

Craig arches his chin foreword and sticks his tongue out, licking at the shapely top of the angel's foot. He leaves a stripe of wetness on the translucent flesh. For some reason, perhaps the whiteness, the stone-like pore-less appearance of the skin, he had assumed the angel would be as cold as ice.

He's hot under his tongue. It burns like a swallow of scalding coffee. The burn is painful. Acute.

Craig licks again. Tries to keep his tongue as dry as he can. He doesn't want to leave his unclean saliva on this creature. But Tweek pushes him back with the foot still resting atop his head and he finds himself licking the slim toes instead of the smooth skin on top of the foot.

“Come on now,” Tweek taunts. “How many out there in the world would be salivating at the thought of doing this to an angel? What are you, a prissy little cat licking your fur? Lick me foot like you mean it.”

The angel wiggles his toes, pressing up and apart so that Craig's tongue slips between the digs. He tastes like fresh dirt and cold ash. His tongues brushes against the sandals and they do not taste like leather as Craig assumed they would. They taste like wet stone smells.

He continues to lap between the angel's toes, drooling now, soaking the skin and the sandals beneath them. He feels the angel grab onto his hair, entwining his fingers around the dark locks as he pushes his down down. Craig swoons. His entire body feels prickly with sweat and his own saliva on his face is like that of a hot soup, thick and scalding. The angel is holding him down so heavily his nose is smashed against the top of the foot. The pressure shoots up through his sinuses.

When the angel nudges at his lips with his big toe he opens up obediently, allowing entrance. He tries to suck on it but Tweek thrusts it in and out of his mouth roughly. Too roughly to latch onto. The toenail scrapes at the roof of his mouth. The scrape is abrasive, scratching him, and he tastes blood. His own blood.

Craig moans deeply at the taste. The spikes dig into his cock, close now to piercing the flesh. He feels himself twitch in anticipation for when more blood is drawn.

He closes his eyes and sucks, taking another toe along with the first, then another. Until the angel has pulled his lips wide enough that all five of them rest on Craig's tongue, the soul of the sandal pressed tight against his chin. The toes flex on the tongue, massaging it. Drool drips down his chin, tickling along his throat, and lands on the floor.

The angel laughs. It's rich and smooth as satin. Dark. Craig can feel the vibration of the laughter in his mouth. It goes straight down to his cock.

Then the voice starts to become higher in pitch. More jagged, less smooth, less refined, less dignified. Manic. High-pitched, insane giggling. And the toes in Craig's mouth begin to shift as well. Hardening. Melting together as if they were a liquid. Gaps disappear as five digits become two.

Befuddled, Craig opens his eyes and looks up. Tweek stares down at him, still beautiful, still glowing. But the glow is as red as his eyes and his eyes are red with the fire of Hell.

Craig screams and tries to pull back. But that foot, that cloven hoof, still rests on his head, holding him in place. He tries to bite at the hoof in his mouth, tries to get it out of him. He wants this perverse abomination out of him.

But Tweek is stronger than he looks. He shoves his hoof deeper into Craig's mouth as he continues to laugh manically.

“You really think one of those uptight pricks would want your lips all over them?” he taunts. “What kind of sick fuck are you?”

Craig tries to shake his head but the hand in his hair is strong. The cloven toes provide a second set of grip in his hair.

“I suppose you're the type who loves to have his mouth fucked by a demon,” Tweek considers. “But I gotta be blunt here. My hooves aren't exactly the most sensitive part of my body. I can barely feel this shit.”

The demon pushes the hoof further into Craig's mouth. So deeply that fur tickles his nose. The fur of a leg. Because the white robes are gone, replaced with a lean, bare chest and a pair of hairy, goat-like legs. Bare goat-like legs. The demon's cock stands out between his furry thighs, red and glistening and very, very hard.

Spit goes down the wrong pipe. Craig begins to choke, tries to cough, but he's having trouble getting air. The hoof pulls back, out, with an audible pop.

Craig coughs, saliva splattering on the wooden floor. He pushes with his arms, pushes himself up. The pressure on his head lifts and he makes it to his knees. The bruises on his joints pinch, causing him to wince.

He makes it no further than that. The demon grabs at his hair again and yanks Craig's head back to look at him. His eyes burn into Craig's own. His very soul feels set aflame.

It's still Tweek. The same angular face and delicate chin. The same untamed blond hair. But when he smiles, he reveals two tiny fangs. His ears stick out from his hair in little points, red and slender. The wings behind him are now crimson and leathery, like a bat. He licks his lips as he smiles down at his prey and his tongue is forked, more red than pink. Thinner than a normal human tongue, flatter.

And despite the hooves and the fur and the fangs and horns and wings and tongue and burning eyes, he's stunningly beautiful.

What is a demon but a fallen angel?

“You're still lusting after me?” Tweek asks. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised. How many years has it been? Three? Four?”

The demon releases Craig's hair and trails his fingers down, touching his cheek. It's almost gentle. Almost kind. Except for the burning heat of his fingertips. Except for the long, pointed nails that scrape.

“Oh, I don't need to be in this form to read your thoughts, my child. I've always known exactly what you've been thinking as you watch me. I've seen all those fantasies. Dirty, dirty boy.” The demon purrs the last words, sounding pleased with Craig. He grips his chin and tilts his head up further. The back of his skull aches, sends up jolts of pain as neck muscles are pulled too far. “Yes, even that one at the camp. The one where you wanted to put me over the podium and fuck my little twink ass right in front of all those little kids. What a dirty boy you are.”

Craig shivers. He's not sure if it's because of the pain or the fear or the embarrassment or something else all together. The whole time. The whole time Tweek had been a demon. Infiltrating the church. Searching for the weak. The sinners. The easy to corrupt. Those like Craig.

“I rather liked that fantasy,” Tweek confesses. “But there was one little problem with it.”

The fingers grab his hair again, pulling so hard that the roots scream. Craig's eyes water from the pain. Tweek leans down so his full lips are touching Craig's ear.

“I don't bottom,” he whispers softly.

The demon is smiling when he pulls back, those little fangs exposed.

Craig grabs for his long forgotten rosary lying to the side. The demon watches, surprised, but does nothing to stop Craig as his fingers scramble across the floor.

“Be gone, demon!” he shouts, holding up the cross.

The demon blinks at him, stunned. Maybe the cross has frozen him.

Then he throws back his head and laughs. Loudly. Joyfully. His voice echoes throughout the Spartan room.

The the rosary bursts into flame. Craig drops it in shock. The beads pop as they explode.

“Really?” the demon grins, amused by Craig's actions. “What's next? Holy water? Please.”

Craig shakes his head helplessly. Then he intertwines his fingers, lowers his head, and begins to spill prayers from in between his lips. He prays nonsensically, by instinct, spitting forth whatever verse come to mind. He begs God to take away this foul creature. He begs him to be forgiven. To be cleansed. To be saved.

“Oh, stop praying. I have better use for your mouth than that garbage.”

Craig looks up again and sees the demon is gripping his hard erection in his fist. It's so red. It looks slippery, like a dog's penis, not like a human's. Or maybe a goat penis, to go with the goat legs. Are goat penises like that of a dog?

Tweek presses his hips forward and uses his hand to direct the hard cock at Craig's face. He slaps him on the cheek with it. It's as hot and searing as the rest of him.

The liquid begins to evaporate immediately, leaving a cool breeze on his face that sends goosebumps through Craig's body. The skin on his arms stand to attention.

“Come on, open up,” the demon insists.

Craig clenches his teeth together and glares up at the creature with murder in his eyes. His dick, pressed against Craig's nose, is oddly abrasive. Texture like a semi-rubbery cheese grater. And it's much, much larger than his own. Thicker, maybe, than any human's has ever been. Especially for his body size. Because, despite the magnificence of his presence, this Tweek is no larger than the normal Tweek. Average height, maybe five ten, of unusual slimness.

“Open up,” he says again, prodding at Craig's lips again. He grits his teeth even tighter, jaw clenched stiff. Tweek chuckles and caresses Craig's cheek with the head of his flared cock. “Come on, boy, you wanted it ten minutes ago. What's changed?” He rubs the tip up against his temple now, then towards his eye. Craig squeezes his eye shut. Hot slime paints his eyelid. “I could just fuck your eye socket if you won't open your mouth.”

Craig swallows, but he doesn't open. He waits instead, willing the demon to do as he wishes. Better to have his eye socket impaled forcefully then his mouth willingly. Still, he shivers uncontrollably, fearing the pain.

Tweek sighs dramatically, as if this is going to pain him. Then he steps back, letting go of his hard cock. It bobs for a second, standing out still at full attention. He takes another step back.

“Fine,” the demon relents. “All I wanted was a chance to fuck your pretty little mouth, something I know we would both enjoy, but you need to make this difficult. Time to stop playing Mr. Nice Demon and show you some of my powers.”

Tweek stares at Craig, suddenly intent, and lifts his right hand slowly. As he lift it, Craig finds himself suddenly beginning to rise. Not as if he were standing up, but as if there were some invisible net beneath him that the demon could control with just one hand. The pressure on his bruised knees vanishes. Craig stares down, aghast, and sees empty air.

He's floating. The demon is picking him up as if he were a toy. Except he's not even touching him.

Losing all sense of composure, Craig gasps and begins to flail, arms reaching out wildly for the ground. He isn't close enough to touch the ground. He is surprised to learn he can move his body in the air. He's not kneeling anymore, his legs hang long and loose beneath him. It's like there's an invisible rope tied around his waist.

“Put me down!” he cries out, terrified. Not because he's a great distant in the air, the fall would barely harm him, but because he's being held by a demon. He's at the mercy of this unholy creature.

The demon smiles, his fangs dangerous despite their diminutive size. He jerks his hand suddenly to the right and Craig finds himself flying through the air. He slams against the wall, his shoulder and hip making contact with a thud. Then he's jerked just as suddenly and quickly to the opposite side of the room, against the opposite wall. The impact on the second hit is worse, the acceleration higher, the force at which he hits more bruising. His penis, still hard in its cage, slams against the spikes, sending a jolt of pain through his crotch region. Then he's away from the wall but his entire body is being jolted, he jerks up and down and right and left and diagonally. He feels like a small animal in a dog's mouth, a rabbit being viciously shaken until its neck snaps. Disoriented, the room is a blur around him. He can't focus on the demon, he's a blur of blond hair and red fur. The candles in the room glow like fireflies in the distance.

He hits the ceiling next, his entire body going flat against it. He's held there for a moment, his head spinning. And even with his vision swimming he recognizes how weird this feels, to be pressed against the highest point in the room, looking down. Tweek looks up at him, head tilted, and he's smiling wickedly still. His arm is lifted up straight, fingers spread. He sees Craig watching him and waves at him with his left hand, each of his fingers moving on its own, before he jerks his right hand sideways. He skids along the ceiling and slams into the left hand wall again. Then he pulls back suddenly, away from the ceiling and wall, into the air for just a second, and then slams against the wall a second time, a third time. His head cracks against the hard wood. His lip splits against his teeth. His nose crushes. He screams with pain. It might be broken.

Then, finally, he is back on the floor. His journey back down is just as rough and sudden as the rest of the ordeal. He's thrown down to the ground so hard the air is knocked out of him. He lays there, trying to breath. His chest aches. His lungs are not obeying him. He's suffocating. It feels like there's something squeezing them. Is it the demon? Can the demon reach into his very chest and grab his lungs in his invisible grip? He claws at the floor beneath him, helpless. Dying.

But then air is rushing back into them and he's inhaling and exhaling as quickly as he can, trying to get oxygen back into his blood. He begins to cough. Blood paints the floor beneath him. Not a lot. From his split lip, his broken nose. Hopefully. Hopefully not from internal bleeding.

Weakly, he tries to pull himself up. He won't just lie on the floor and wait to die. But he's dizzy and only makes it up onto one knee before he pauses, lightheaded. He coughs again and again, trying to get the blood out of his throat.

“There we go,” the demon says. He's there again, grabbing Craig's head, and he didn't hear him move. Didn't see him approach. It's like he materialized right before Craig. And before Craig has a chance to react that slimy, engorged cock has shoved its way past his lips and halfway down Craig's throat.

He shoves back at the demon, fingers sinking into furry hips, but it's useless. Just as useless as when it had been this creature's hoof in his mouth instead. Hand grip each side of his head, thumbs against his temples, fingertips digging into the back of his skull. He holds Craig in place as he grinds against him, the fur of his pelvis brushing against his nose distressingly. The barbs on his penis catch on his teeth, along his throat. He gags, trying to resist the urge to vomit. But he isn't given a moment to fight it because the demon uses his head as his own personal sex toy, jerking him down and then yanking him back up, his hard cock sliding in and out of Craig's mouth, his broken lip catching on the barbs again and again, the wound opening wider.

It hurts so bad. It feels like his lip is about to be pulled in two.

In his pants, in his little metal cage, he's leaking. He can feel it. He's so aroused the precum has leaked through his underwear and is beginning to drip down his thigh.

Or maybe that's blood?

Either way, he's throbbing with want, with need, so turned on he can feel his heartbeat in his head. A steady thud, thud, thud in his temples.

He drools around the hard cock in his mouth, relishing the burning of demon flesh rubbing against his pharynx. He can't taste what the demon tastes like, only his own blood. But he smells like ash and wet fur. The barbs tear at his tongue.

“Good boy,” the demon purrs, now starting to thrust his hips up to meet Craig's mouth. “Beautiful boy. Beautiful lips. Beautiful mouth. You have a mouth made for this. For sucking a big, hard cock. Oh, glare at me all you want little human, I know you love this.”

Craig wants to touch himself. He wants out of his cage. The pain of the spikes is beginning to be too much. He likes the pain, normally, a little pain excites him. But he needs friction, not sharp points right now.

His throat might be bleeding. He can't be certain. The barbs on the demon's cock aren't as hard as metal, but they're rubbing against tender flesh. Something goes down the wrong pipe and he begins to cough again.

The demon pulls back. His cock, red as it already is, is coated with red liquid. Craig's blood. He coughs up more blood. His throat feels sore, as if he's caught strep throat.

“Time to move on, boy,” Tweek says. “Let's get you out of that horrible contraption. And these horrible clothes.”

Craig leans back, away from the demon. But it doesn't matter. Like the cross had earlier, his clothing erupts into flame. He panics, slapping at his arms, but it doesn't matter. The fire is almost instantaneous. Within seconds the fire, along with his clothing, has disappeared. There's still a burning sensation around his hips. He glances down just in time to see the leather of his chastity belt melting. The cage around his penis falls with a small metallic clatter. His cock stands at full attention, dotted with specks of blood. He looks back at up at the demon, licking his lips.

“Should I toss you around some more?”  
“Just kill me and be done with it,” Craig spits out. “I'm ready for it. Just kill me already.”

“Kill you?” the demon blinks at him. “Why would I want to kill you?”

“Isn't that the point of this all?”

“Are you serious?” Tweek laughs at him. “I want to play with you, not kill you. I want to fuck you, not send you to be with Him. If I kill you then I can't play with you anymore.”

Craig looks around him, looks for anything that would do the job himself. He hasn't been fully defiled yet. He could finish himself off and escape that humiliation.

“No, I don't think I feel like using my magic for this,” the demon decides aloud. “What's the use of super strength if you just use your magic all the time?”

Maybe if he got to one of the candles he could swallow the wax? Would hot wax kill a person? If ingested?

“Come here, boy,” the demon says, reaching for Craig. He flinches, recoils, but it's no use. He knows that now. There's no way to get away from this foul creature. He's grabbed by the throat and hoisted up to his feet, finally standing beside the demon for the first time.

He's taller than him. But he's always been taller than Tweek. He's used to that. The demon shoves him against the nearest wall, holding him still with his nails, claws really, digging into the vulnerable flesh of his throat. Something moves behind Tweek. Over the pale curve of the demon's shoulder he sees a whip-like tail lashing back and forth, excited by his prey like that of a cat. It looks scaled, like the tail of a snake, except the tip ends in a triangular point.

The demon bites at Craig's throat, teeth sinking in between where his thumb and index finger grip him. It's hard, but not hard enough to draw blood. Craig groans. His cock twitches against a furry thigh. The hand not gripping his throat reaches down to grab at him. The fingers feel smaller than his own as a scalding hand begins to pump him.

“Is this what you wanted?” Tweek whispers against his jaw. “My hand around your big dick?”

It feels so good. Much better than that boy Craig had paid to do this. He nods unintelligibly, breathing in small gasps. The forked tongue laps at Craig's jaw, at his lips. He parts them without being told to do so, without being conscious of his actions. The demon's tongue wraps around his own, snake-like, as if his tongue were a mouse and the demon the predator. He moans against Tweek's soft lips. He feels hot. Sweat drips down his face.

“Does that feel good, Craig?” Tweek asks. “Do you like kissing me?”

He nods again, trying to push forward for another kiss. Tweek holds him still, holds him tighter, around his throat.

“Do you want to kiss me again, Craig?” The red eyes stare into his own. He swears he can see small flickering flames in their depths.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his voice small and rough.

“You like being touched by a demon?” Tweek asks now. “Having your mouth fucked?”

“Yes,” he says again, his voice so low he can barely hear himself.

“You want me to fuck your other end now?” the demon demands. “Do you want my cock up inside of you?”

Craig realizes what he's been agreeing to, this suggestion stabbing through his haze of pain, of arousal. Snapping back to reality, he tries to shake his head no. The hand on his throat doesn't allow that much movement. He just whispers out a desperate “no” instead.

The angel doesn't listen. He grabs Craig by the shoulder and jerks him around, his broken nose digging into the wall. He sees stars, turns his head quickly to take the pressure off the bridge. The demon's claws are already probing at his entrance.

“You could try showering more than once a week,” Tweek suggests after a moment. “I mean, I've fucked dirtier but that was back when peasants only had their yearly bath in the spring.”

That old? The demon is that old?

“I can't resist a virgin asshole though,” he continues. One of the claws forces itself up and into Craig's entrance. He clenches back against the pain. “Oh, I'm sorry, did you want lube?”

“Please,” Craig begs pathetically, knowing there is no way to fight this. If he has to do this, if he has to take this demon's cock inside him, let him at least do it in the least painful way possible.

He waits for the demon to pull out of him, to make a bottle of lubricant appear, but he supposes that was a foolish though. Why make the tube appear when you can just make the lubricant itself appear inside his asshole? The hot wetness inside him is disconcerting in its suddenness. He feels sleek on the inside, a feeling he never expected to experience.

Tweek plunges a second finger in beside the first but it doesn't hurt as much now, not with the oily substance coating his insides. The fingers thrust inside him, pull out an inch, and thrust back in again. They're not touching anything important inside him yet, he knows from personal experience that part of a boy isn't that shallow, but his sphincter convulses joyfully around the digits. He had no idea the stimulation of having his asshole rubbed could be so amazing.

The demon bites at his shoulder, pressing his chest against Craig's back. He's as hot there as the rest of his body, his nipples like burning pebbles against his shoulder blades. He reaches around for Craig's cock and squeezes him tightly, not giving him the satisfaction of any sort of friction. Just holding him captive and hard in his grip.

“Bite down on something,” the demon says playfully, “This is going to be a rough ride.”

The claws did little to ready Craig for the size of this demon's cock. It feels like he's trying to shove a shampoo bottle up inside of him. Craig breathes heavily out his nose and presses his cheek against the wall. Tweek bites him again as he nudges in a bit more, then laps at the bite mark with his forked tongue.

“How's that feel?” he teases. “Having a demon cock up your uptight little ass?”

He makes a small grunt but otherwise refuses to acknowledge the demon's taunts. He can feel his sphincter convulsing around the demon's dickhead. It hurts. It hurts pleasantly. He presses forward in Tweek's grip, needing friction on his hard cock.

“So eager,” the demon teases again. “Don't worry, I'll fuck you good.”

His arm goes around Craig's waist, pulling him down at an angle as he pushes his hips up. It hurts, but not much worse than the initial entrance. He's still straining around the girth. But when the demon pushes all the way in, bottoming out, he pushes against something deep inside the causes a tinge of pain to shoot through his insides.

It's momentary.

For a second everything is okay. His body adjusts to the enormous size of the demon, somehow, and he's pressing against something deep inside that feels really, really good. He doesn't want to think about that fact. Tweek loosens his grip on Craig's dick and gives him a few quick strokes of his palm.

But then Tweek pulls out. Not all the way, maybe half, enough so that he can thrust back in a moment later. But when he pulls out the barbs along his dick now resist the motion, the dozens, hundreds, of tiny little hands claw at Craig's insides.

Craig screams, grabbing at the wall, at anything he can grip at, but there's nothing but flat expanses of wood. He digs his nails in the best he can, his teeth banging against the wood. He wants something to bite at. The demon wasn't kidding when he told him to bite down on something.

Tweek fucks him hard against the wall, the sound wet and obscene, slurping of a hundred little suction cups resisting. He feels the fur against his bottom, the claws digging into his hips. He cannot close his eyes and just pretend this is a human. He is being sodomized by a demon.

And it's fucking amazing.

He moans loudly, continuously, pushing back against the demon's cock, forward into the demon's claws. He's the hardest he's ever been in his life, barely able to think. Everything is a blur of pain and pleasure.

The demon pulls out suddenly with a wet pop, turns him around, and hikes Craig's legs up around his waist. He's such a small demon, such a pretty demon, he shouldn't be able to pick up Craig like he's a child. But he does. He directs Craig's arms up around his neck and re-enters him. Craig's head falls back against the wall with a solid thud. Somehow, at this angle, the demon feels ever deeper.

Craig watches the beautiful face as he fucks him. The demon isn't sweating, like Craig is, he doesn't even look flushed. His face is serene, angelic, if you ignore the fangs and horns. And the little forked tongue just jutting out between his teeth. His hands rest just above Craig's hips, holding him in place as he pounds him. Craig sees it coming but is still surprises when the demon kisses him again.

He kisses Tweek back, rubbing his own tongue against the demon's burning flesh. His mouth is no longer bleeding and he can taste him now. He tastes like ash and smoke and, for some reason, a bit like coffee.

The demon slips a hand under his butt and tilts his hips up just a fraction, just adjusting his penetration enough that he hits Craig's prostate with every thrust of his hips. Craig screams into his mouth with surprise. The little barbs grab onto the gland, prolonging the pleasure.

“I could've done this four years ago,” Tweek says, his voice laced with pride. “I could've been fucking your cute little asshole every night for the last four years, if I hadn't enjoyed our game so much.”

Craig groans at the thought of it. He think about how many times he's touched himself to the thought of Tweek in the shower over the last four years. Thinks of how many empty nights he spent alone in bed, unable to sleep.

He could've been doing this the whole time.

Tweek begins to fuck him more erratically, faster. Craig clenches his eyes shut and goes along with the ride, his back and head rocking against the wall. He listens to the sound of the demon breathing, the wet, meaty sound of skin on skin, lube on genitals. His arms slip down from around Tweek's throat and down his back. He digs his fingernails into the soft skin of the area between the demon's wings and pulls down, scratching him. Returning some of the pain.

He cums with the demon inside him. He cums from the pain of the barbs and the pleasure of the hand around his cock and the thought of how wrong and dirty and disgusting and amazing and hot and fantastic this all is.

When the demon cums it burns so hot Craig screams out and tries to wiggle away. It's like hot grease inside him. Tweek hurries to pull out and what looks like steam drifts out of Craig's asshole. He drops Craig and he lands on the ground with a groan. Liquid is seeping out of him. It's black and stains the ground around him.

“It's worse than it feels,” the demon says nonchalantly, sounding as composed as if they were just playing chess, not fucking against a wall. “Don't worry, you'll be fine for tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Craig asks, voice weak, tired. His head is on the ground, he stares at up at the demon. Tweek's hair falls across his forehead, pristine, bright.

“And the night after that,” the demon confirms, reaching up to move those locks off his face. “And after that. And after that. Until I get tired of you.”

“How long will that take?” Craig asks wearily. He moves his hand, trying to cover his softening cock with his fingers, suddenly vulnerable.

“Oh, ten...twenty years. We'll see how well you age,” Tweek says, kicking lightly at Craig's hip with a cloven hoof. “I'm afraid if you get pregnant the baby will kill you, though. Humans rarely survive a demon birth. We'll see how this goes.”

Pregnant? But he's a man! Sure this demon is joking?

“I have a twelve-year-old girl in Boulder I need to go taunt over her breast development,” Tweek continues, “So I'll see you tomorrow. For fuck's sake, please take a shower by then. I was hoping to rim you tonight but you smelled like roadkill back there. A demon does have tastes, you know?”

Tweek disappears with a pop, only the smell of smoke left behind.

Craig stares up at the ceiling for a moment, then he slowly, painfully, pulls himself to his knees, black demon seed still oozing out of him, and he begins to pray.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I do have a Tumblr if for some God awful reason you want to chill with me. Its @hearteworm .


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